


League of Shadows

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [25]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Justice League International (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cops and Super Heroes, Gen, Samhaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: After the chaos of the last three Halloweens, Team One is hoping for a quiet night.  Then a tip comes in about a new type of drug on the underground market, a so-called ‘fear toxin’.  As an attack straight out of fiction causes chaos throughout Toronto, it’s going to take something just as fictional to save the night.
Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/576850
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Time To Spread the Word

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. It follows "Fallen Angel" and comes before "Contingency Plan".
> 
> It's that time of year again, ya'll, and my inner-geek once again had a ball with this one! For full costume descriptions, please check out "Samhaine" for everyone sans Sam and "Samhaine, Redux" for Sam's costume. Hope you enjoy reading just as much as I enjoyed writing.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_, _Harry Potter_, _Narnia_, or _Merlin_. I also do not own the Avengers or Justice League International.
> 
> Update: I am so sorry, ya'll. I totally meant to post this on Halloween, not two days later, but it completely slipped my mind. So...sorry it's late, but here's my Halloween 2019 story!

Maxwell Lord’s jaw was set as he stared at his opponent, his stance firm and his eyes challenging as he remained between his opponent and the fallen Batman behind him. Arrogance coated the Black King, an arrogance as natural to Max as breathing. Around the three men, the small, shabby warehouse loomed, almost menacing in its disrepair and the deep shadows that lurked.

“I offer to give you a place at my side,” Max’s opponent declaimed grandly, his gestures wide and inviting. “You understand what it is to sacrifice the few for the many.” A chiding look. “Though your focus was much too narrow.”

“Narrow.”

“Yes, of course,” the other confirmed. “To _merely_ target supers…it will take far more than that to save the world.” A solemn head-shake. “No, Mr. Lord, to save the world requires sacrifices, some greater than others. That, too, you understand.”

A muscle twitched in Lord’s jaw. “Don’t,” he growled, a wealth of warning in his voice. As the other man paced back and forth, Lord shifted his position, ensuring that he was facing his opponent at all times. “You don’t know anything about me,” Checkmate’s leader snapped.

“Do I not?” A mocking lilt in that tone. “I know you value humanity enough to sacrifice even those who once considered you friend.”

Another growl cut off the thin, sophisticated man as the stocky Lord’s fists balled. “I did what I did to _protect_ innocents from people like you!”

“Ah, of course.” The tone was placating, yet still mocking. “You murdered a man who trusted you in cold blood to protect the _innocent_. Or was it simply to ensure he could not interfere with your ultimate goal?” The man paused, as if inviting Max to speak, but he did not. After another moment, the man waved his hand in dismissal. “We do not target the innocent, Mr. Lord, merely the corrupt. Men who are too far gone to save must be removed if humanity is to survive. Your aid and experience would be…invaluable.”

The Black King considered that. Then he smiled, a cold, calculating smirk that transformed the usually kind and gentle Sergeant Parker…into his polar opposite.

* * * * *

_4 hours earlier_

Spike grimaced as he shifted just enough to scratch at a persistent itch right under one shoulder blade. He’d been antsy and uncomfortable all _day_, and it kept getting worse and worse, as if he was missing something. Something important. But he couldn’t quite figure out _what_.

Nor was he the only one – he’d already gotten his head bit off by Wordy for ‘exercising too loudly’, Lou had that shifty-eyed look that usually meant the less-lethal specialist was ticked off at _someone_, and even the Sarge was twitchier than usual. It was a good thing they hadn’t gotten any hot calls…Spike _knew_ he wasn’t even close to the right frame of mind to handle a hot call and he suspected the same went for the rest of his team.

If only he could figure out _what_ was wrong, he was sure he could fix it, but so far the only thing he could come up with was the fact that it was Halloween. Maybe, the bomb tech mused, the last three Halloween disasters meant he was keyed up and ready for trouble. That was probably it. Spike rolled his shoulders to relieve the itch…it still hadn’t gone away…and wondered, absently, why he was suddenly thinking it would be a great idea to wear his Halloween costume. Right now.

* * * * *

The brunette sniper sighed as she adjusted her weights yet again. Nothing seemed to be right today; she’d woken up with a headache and a nagging, sinking feeling in her stomach, conditions that had just been compounded, rather than alleviated, by her favorite radio station. For some reason, the music had grated against her hearing like nails on a chalkboard. Ugh. And her nagging, ‘something-is-wrong’ feeling hadn’t gone away as the day wore on; instead it had just gotten worse and worse and worse, until she couldn’t even sit still long enough to do her usual weight machine reps.

Whatever was bugging her was bugging her teammates as well; there was no other explanation for the way Sam had snapped at her over breakfast, nor the way Ed was suddenly harsher than her least favorite instructor back at the Academy, the one who’d been loudly derisive towards the idea of _female_ cops. Jules sighed under her breath as she finished adjusting the weight machine and hopped back onto it, only to hop back off a scant three reps later, her very _blood_ jittery and demanding _something_. But what?

* * * * *

Ed forced himself to close his mouth and turn away from Jules’ uncharacteristic up and down, higher weights traded for lower, then right back up again behavior. He _knew_ he was acting like a jerk, but he just couldn’t seem to stop himself. And Wordy – the steadiest, most easygoing guy Ed knew – was snapping and snarling at their teammates, a furious, but bewildered look in his eyes. As if Wordy couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, even as he did it.

Something was wrong, but darned if Ed could figure out _what_. The only clue the team leader had picked up so far was that, for some reason, Greg was less affected. Not unaffected, but less than the rest of them. But what _that_ could mean, Ed wasn’t quite sure. But he _did_ plan on figuring out what the heck was going on. Soon.

Then Jules popped up again and Ed roared, “Jules, leave it!” In that moment, his train of thought vanished just as swiftly as it had come.

* * * * *

Greg resisted the urge to look up from his paperwork at the sound of footsteps entering the briefing room; internally, he hoped it wasn’t Eddie coming in to bother him about his workout – again. Although his team leader was usually a good sport about the endless mountains of white paper, today seemed to be one of those rare days when nothing, absolutely _nothing_ suited Ed Lane. In a way, Greg understood; he had the same uneasy feeling lying heavy in his own gut; but that was no reason to take it out on their teammates. As it was, Greg’s uncomfortable feeling kept intruding right as he got into his paperwork stride…he’d gotten through less than a third of the white stuff.

“Sergeant Parker?”

That wasn’t Eddie. Parker immediately looked up, his eyes landing on a nervous, decidedly unhappy Giles Onasi and his equally unhappy partner Roy Lane. Hazel eyes sharpened. “Gentlemen? Something wrong?”

Giles grimaced heavily. “Yeah,” he confirmed, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve got a problem, sir. A big one.”

* * * * *

Of the seven members of Team One, only Greg took a seat at the briefing room table as Onasi began; the rest lurked around the room’s periphery, their expressions closed as they regarded the upset Auror. The Auror was too upset to notice the team’s odd behavior, though Roy cocked an eyebrow at his brother, earning a glare for his trouble.

Almost as soon as Team One stopped moving, Giles started pacing back and forth, his expression tight and angry. “We’ve got a gang of wizards on the loose.”

“Again?” Sam groaned.

Brown eyes narrowed. “Not like last year, Braddock,” the brunet snipped. “Worse.”

“Hard to get much worse than busting the Statute of Secrecy wide open at a high school Halloween party,” Lou pointed out quietly.

Giles whirled to pin Lou with a glare. “How about a gang of potion dealers planning to dose the entire city with fear toxin?”

“Fear toxin?” Parker questioned skeptically.

“That sounds more like a comic book,” Spike agreed, accidently cutting his boss off.

“Tell Simmons that,” Roy interrupted, his tone grave. “Three of his squad are in the hospital right now after being dosed with this stuff.” As attention swung to the lanky detective, Roy made a face. “They were seeing stuff and screaming like they were being burned alive or something.”

“Hallucinations?” Wordy ventured doubtfully. “Do any of them have a history of that?”

Twin head shakes. “Nothing,” Giles asserted grimly. “You’ve got to be one of the best to make Simmons’ squad…that and pass _his_ background check. He doesn’t let anyone he hasn’t _personally_ approved even _apply_ to the squad, never mind what he puts the applicants through before he accepts them.” A brief shrug. “That’s why it was such a sore spot for him after you lot kicked his squad’s collective tails.”

Jules cocked her head to the side, thinking. “So, hallucinations from people with no history of mental illness. Suspicious, but how’d you jump from that to ‘fear toxin’?”

A sheepish expression appeared on Giles’ face. “Ummmm…”

Roy rolled his eyes at his fellow Auror. “Okay, partner, time to ‘fess up,” he taunted, a definite, ‘I-told-you-so’ air to his voice.

The sheepish look deepened into a blush. “I maybe…um…pulled your _nipotes_ out of class to come heal the Aurors,” Onasi confessed, ducking his eyes away from Parker’s intense gaze.

“And…” Roy prodded expectantly, seizing his chance to lord his one moment of being the _responsible_ partner over the embarrassed brunet.

“Ummm…I might have possibly told them you already knew?” Giles added, careful not to look at any of the now incredulous cops glaring at him even as he tugged at his collar and flushed bright red.

Roy huffed in amusement, then filled the team in. “Once they’d stopped screaming and staring at us like we were monsters, they all told us the same thing. They got snatched during a routine patrol in the Narrows and hauled in front of two nutcase potion dealers for a ‘test’.”

“The test being this fear toxin stuff,” Ed filled in.

A grim nod. “After they were dosed, they got dumped outside the Narrows and left to fend for themselves. Luckily, their squad mates were close enough to hear the screaming and got them to the hospital before any one got hurt.”

Still bright red, Onasi finished, “The last victim overheard one of the dealers say the testing was complete. The other one said something about Halloween being the night Toronto faces true justice.”

“Who are these guys?” Sam demanded, his shoulders tense and set as he flexed his hands.

“Names are Henry Dukakis and Jonathan Azrick,” Roy reported. “I ran their names; Drug Squad’s heard of ‘em.”

“They work both sides?” Lou pressed, alarm showing.

“Yep,” came the simple confirmation. “Gets worse, too.”

“Worse,” Parker deadpanned. “I suppose they’ve decided they’re supervillains, too?” Sarcasm reeked.

“Actually,” Giles managed in a rather small voice, “That about sums it up, Sergeant Parker.”

The team gawped at the Auror in silent shock.

* * * * *

“Well?” a distinguished wizard inquired of his taller, gaunt companion. He reached up, stroking his Middle-Eastern style goatee, mentally applauding himself on his impeccable appearance. His short, styled dark hair held the frosting of age, carefully applied and even more carefully maintained.

The taller man smiled, a hint of crazed in that grin. “They can’t stop us now,” he announced. “We’re too far along for that.” He ran a hand over the burlap bag in his hands, his smile turning even more crazed, right along with dark brown eyes. “And after Toronto?”

“I have yet to decide,” the slim goateed wizard replied, adjusting his stance minutely. “But London has much to answer for.”

“It does,” came the grim agreement. “Too many died at the hands of cruel purebloods.”

“Yes.” There was silence for several more seconds, then Ra’s al Ghul lifted his cane and poked the tip towards the open water main where a group of skeletally thin wizards dressed in ragged, patched robes were pouring the contents of a large barrel into the heart of Toronto’s water supply. “Finish the final batch and meet me at the warehouse in an hour.”

“Of course,” Scarecrow acknowledged, tilting his head downward respectfully. “And if any one interferes?”

“Deal with them,” Ra’s ordered as he turned away and strode towards a pulsing magical device. When he reached the device, he patted it, then looked up at the waiting wizards with hard eyes. “Get it loaded and ready,” he instructed, stepping back as his minions hefted the large, heavy device.

As they departed towards the Muggle truck he’d arranged for the evening’s activities, Ra’s smiled to himself. Yes, London would the perfect destination…the perfect subject for their next…test.


	2. And the Word Is: Panic

A brunet head poked into the briefing room, an auburn head right behind him. “Just tell them,” Lance advised, smirking gleefully at his uncle’s instant death glare at Onasi.

“You knew,” Giles realized, shocked that he’d been seen through so easily.

“Pretty much,” Alanna cheerfully confirmed, pushing her brother forward. “Uncle Greg either would’ve been with you or sent us text messages.”

“Then why…?” the chagrined Auror questioned weakly.

Greg, though, shook his head in resignation and answered before his _nipotes_ could. “Because you wouldn’t do something like this unless you believed _mio nipotes_ were the only way to help those men.” Hazel flicked to the teenagers. “That doesn’t mean I’m happy with you two.”

“So spill,” Wordy ordered rather sharply, looking between the detectives and the kids, “What else is there?”

Alanna ran a hand through her hair. “Somehow they came up with a way to mix drugs and potions. Lance and I had to trade off on the healing ‘cause it took more magic than I thought.”

“Did they use the Old Religion?” Sam interjected.

“Thank Aslan they didn’t,” Lance muttered, “It was bad enough without adding _that_ nest of hornets to the mix.”

Parker’s attention shifted to Onasi. “Tell me you’re not going to recommend we bring _mio nipotes along_ on this call.”

The Auror twitched nervously, but held firm. “Sergeant, we _need_ them…if we get nailed with this fear toxin stuff, then we’ll be completely incapacitated.”

“At best,” Roy tacked on grimly. “_I_ sure don’t want to end up baying at the moon and locked in a padded cell.”

Hazel narrowed dangerously. “_Mio nipotes_ are not going to get dragged into the middle of this, Auror Onasi,” Greg gritted out. “Not when we have other options.”

“Like?” Roy questioned sarcastically; his partner wisely said nothing, though his agreement was crystal clear on his face.

“What about the Halloween costumes?” Jules offered unexpectedly. “Those have Wild Magic, right?”

“Some,” Lance cautiously agreed when the adults swung towards him expectantly. “It might be enough,” he admitted, though his tone was full of doubt.

“And what about us?” Roy inquired pointedly, gesturing between himself and Giles. “_We_ don’t have costumes.”

“We do,” Giles refuted softly; the rest of the room stared at the Auror in shock. Shifting uncomfortably, Giles ran both hands through his hair. “I had two more made after McKean,” he confessed. “But I don’t know what you did to the original costumes.”

Lance grimaced heavily and traded looks with his sister. For several seconds, the two conversed silently with hand gestures and pointed glares. Then the teen looked back at the adults. “I can probably add the new costumes to the Halloween spell, but that stretches the Wild Magic, too…”

“So we still need them along,” Giles argued at once.

But Greg Parker absolutely refused to be moved; his _nipotes_ would _not_ be coming along, not if _he_ had anything to say about it. And that was _final_.

* * * * *

Lance sighed to himself as he set the two brand-new costumes down right next to the old costumes, mentally plotting out how to stretch the magic. It didn’t help that he still had very little idea of _how_ the Halloween spell had stuck to the costumes in the first place, an oversight he was now regretting. Without that knowledge, his best option was, essentially, to ‘charge up’ the old costumes and hope the spells on them ‘jumped’ to the new.

Golden light flared, illuminating every last one of the costumes; Lance blinked in surprise at the shades he saw for a split second, animating the costumes – shades of individuals who’d never truly existed. Then Alanna added her own magic to the mix and the pair _saw_ the spells leap to the new costumes, swirling around leather and faux metal as they took effect.

“Lion’s Mane,” Alanna breathed in her brother’s ear; worry dominated her features as Lance flicked his eyes back at her.

He understood, but for some reason, his uncle was _determined_ to go through with _this_ course of action. And for some equally unknown reason, the _rest_ of Team One was _just_ as determined. Lance swallowed hard and silently whispered a prayer in his head that the Lion would look out for his family; they were going to need it tonight. And if three smaller costumes somehow made it out of the main pile and into Alanna’s keeping? Well, _someone_ had to save the adults from their own folly.

* * * * *

Giles slid into his new costume, surprised at how quickly it was going on, how _natural_ it felt to slide the equipment in place, his mindset changing with each new piece of gear. Flexible, but incredibly tough armor latched together, the gauntlets with their detachable spikes settled with nary a problem, and the steel-hued belt with its black, vaguely bat shaped buckle clicked closed in its spot as the superhero fastened his weapons and equipment to it. The black cape swirled as it settled into place and Giles hesitated a moment before donning the helmet.

As soon as he did so, he wasn’t just Giles Onasi, Auror and cop, any more. No, he _was_ Gotham’s Dark Knight, the Batman, as well as Bruce Wayne, the spoiled dilettante with a deadly secret and a tragic past. It should have sent Giles right out of the costume he’d just donned, gasping for air and struggling to regain _himself_. Instead, the cowled hero set his jaw and turned to glance at his compatriots, noting absently that they, too, were settling down as the _thing_ that had been missing all day finally slid into place.

Only the silver-toned Captain Atom looked uncomfortable as he inspected himself, from the top of his short, messy, silver hair to his red gloves and the red atom symbol on his chest to the angled blue boots that comprised the hero’s sole deviations from his all-silver color scheme. “This is awkward,” he muttered to himself, before tossing a glare at Batman. “You picked _this_ costume, _why_?”

Giles smirked at Roy. “It looked cool.”

Sniggers rose from their teammates as Nathanial Adam gifted Wayne with his fiercest glare, making his eyes glow a brighter shade of orange. The silver superhero stomped past his partner, delivering a retaliatory punch to Batman’s upper arm as he went by.

Behind him, the rest of the Avenger Leaguers grinned and smirked at each other. The tension of the day was completely gone, as if it had never been. Instead of being unnerved or uncomfortable with the way their memories had joined and blended with their superhero alter-egos, Team One was _relaxed_ and enjoying the sensation. And even wondering why they’d been so unnerved by their experience the year before – this was _wonderful_.

Scott Free stretched casually, delighting in the mix of his sidearm and his escape artist gear on his belt even as he idly calculated if he dared bring his aero-discs out inside Coulson’s tiny apartment. Reluctantly, the team leader decided against it.

Jules checked her Widow Bites without any hesitation whatsoever, shifting to let Thor guard her back as she did so. While she was much better on the trust front, she still preferred to trust her boyfriend, Hawkeye, or Coulson over the rest of her team. Sam gave Natasha an understanding return look as he adjusted his own position, making sure he could get to either Mjolnir or his sniper rifle at need.

Without missing a beat, Captain America shook his head at the antics of their newest members, turned to the rest of his team, and ordered, “Let’s move, people. We’ve got a city to save.” As the group moved, Wordy adjusted the shield on his back and quickly double checked his sidearm, just in case.

In the back, Maxwell Lord frowned to himself, his eyes narrowing unhappily at the American superhero’s back. _He_ was the team Sergeant, it should’ve been _his_ order to move out. And why, Lord mused, had he gained complete control rather than simply being blended with Parker? After a moment, he shook his head and set the mystery aside. What did it matter? He had _control_…the _real_ question was: how should he _use_ that control?

* * * * *

The Avenger Leaguers dropped the two teens off at the Lane residence before making tracks for the Narrows – a rundown area of Magical Toronto that had seen _much_ better days. The Narrows was actually a small island that lay to the south of Toronto’s downtown neighborhood; it was connected to the mainland by a series of bridges and Magical Toronto’s one grasp at something a bit more modern: a monorail that connected most of the magical areas with each other. None of Team One had ever been on the monorail; it had been rundown and neglected even before the Second Wizarding War and tended to transport the dregs of magical society – on its _best_ days.

From what Max understood, the monorail’s downfall had been a tragedy in more ways than one: it had been built by a fairly prominent family who’d actually been interested in helping their world adapt to the changing circumstances in the tech world. As such, the family had also invested their money into updating and modernizing Magical Toronto – they’d even succeeded in their efforts to join Magical Toronto’s water supply to the more modern and efficient technological version thereof. Sadly, the family had been targeted by your average, typical pureblood fanatics and that had been the end of Magical Toronto’s modernization project.

As Team One’s trucks rolled to a halt just outside the gateway that would take them into the downtown side of the Narrows, Max arched an eyebrow at Batman, who’d been fiddling with something for the past several blocks.

“What’ve you got there?” the Black King inquired, honest curiosity in his voice.

Batman jumped, his expression a trifle guilty as he darted a look at Max. Then he straightened, his jaw firming and his tone deepening to the growl Max was so familiar with. “This,” he replied, holding out a miniature version of the Batmobile.

Max whistled low as he took the small tank-like vehicle. “Impressive,” he granted. “But it doesn’t do you much good like that.”

The return smirk was downright unnerving. But all the Bat said was, “We’ll see.”

* * * * *

Ra’s al Ghul smiled victoriously as he surveyed his creation. The perfect way to finally bring the powerful and the corrupt down once and for all. And best of all, he would be using their own favorite weapon against them.

Fear.

“Time to spread the word,” he announced to his gathered minions as he activated the humming machine. “And the word is: panic.”

Seconds later, the first screams rang out as all the water in the Narrows’ mains vaporized, instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Giles' costume, I defer to Batman's costume in _The Dark Knight_. I apologize that it wasn't incredibly detailed like my other costume descriptions, but really, it's an all-black costume and the detail is only noticeable close up…makes it a trifle more difficult for me. I may attempt to go back and beef it up one of these days.
> 
> Roy is Captain Atom, a relatively minor DC hero who I first met courtesy of the JLI run. Even today, Captain Atom's costume hasn't changed all that much since his first appearance, though his backstory certainly has. I found Captain Atom particularly appropriate in the wake of Roy's near death in "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" – Captain Atom _also_ survived an event he wasn't supposed to.


	3. I Gotta Get Me One of Those

“Move, move, move,” Cap roared as the team scrambled across the bridge to the Narrows. “Fliers, find me a target!”

The team’s four fliers were airborne in moments, but the thick haze from the vaporized water made finding their subjects nearly impossible, particularly as night closed in around the Narrows. Even so, JARVIS immediately started scanning, using both Iron Man’s and War Machine’s sensors in an attempt to pin down the source of the vaporization. Thor and Mister Miracle split off from their fellow superheroes, using their speed and agility to cover as much ground as possible.

The ground based team traded grim looks as they reached the far side of the bridge. “We need to get all the bridges up,” Lord announced flatly. “Trap them here and we can contain this.”

Batman frowned. “Even if we raise the bridges, they still have a way off the island,” he pointed out in his trademark growl. At the demanding looks, the Auror grimaced. “The monorail,” he explained bluntly. “Magic-side, the monorail follows the water mains to the central hub, beneath Dominion Bank Tower.”

“The Dominion Bank Tower?” Widow blurted in surprise. “That’s tech-side!”

“There’s a magic-side station right under the tower,” Batman growled. “The station was built there so we could connect the magic-side water mains to the tech ones.” A brief hesitation, then the Auror plowed on. “The connection between the mains made that the unofficial center of Toronto.” Looking up at the thick white haze around them, he concluded, “If they get whatever’s causing this into _that_ station, they’ll cause a chain reaction that will vaporize the entire city’s water supply.”

For a moment, utter silence hung in the air and on the comm. Then Max’s eyes hardened into topaz. “Team One. Take them down, as fast and hard as you can. We’ve _got_ to stop them from loading that train.”

“Copy,” rang out from all the heroes; Max smiled grimly. None of them had figured it out. Good.

* * * * *

Giles frowned as he slipped his wand free from its gauntlet holster – he’d borrowed the idea from the Calvin siblings and it was working beautifully thus far. Something was bugging him about Parker. It wasn’t even particularly noticeable…just a slight change in the Sergeant’s stance and his choice of words. Nothing to worry about…except he was. And he couldn’t shake his gut feeling that he _needed_ to figure out what was going on before it was too late.

The dark hero shook his head and turned his attention to the miniature car in his left hand. With a slight internal smirk, Batman set the car down and stepped back before pointing his wand at the car. Magic flew and the car expanded rapidly, growing to the height and size of a small, but very powerful tank. The vehicle was slick, with four massive back tires and a thruster port between them; the tall back angled ever so slightly downwards toward the front two tires, which were almost slim compared to the rear wheels. Armor covered the craft from nose to tail, tough enough to take an impressive amount of damage, but still light enough to give the car enough agility to drive on city streets.

A low whistle drew Batman around to face his partner. Captain Atom craned his head to get a better look at the Batmobile. “Where’s _my_ car, partner?” he asked, only half-joking.

Batman snorted disdain. “You can fly,” he retorted, turning back towards the Tumbler.

“That’s cooler,” Atom riposted, jostling his friend’s shoulder as he waved towards the Batmobile.

Giles spun back, at first taken aback. At the mischievous sparkle in Roy’s eyes, he huffed a laugh. “Touché,” he acknowledged. Then he started for the Tumbler, calling over his shoulder, “Can you drive stick?”

“Better ‘n _you_ can,” came the immediate counter as Roy hustled after his fellow detective. Less than a minute later, the Tumbler’s engine roared to life, its passenger calling, “Me ‘n’ Giles are headed for the monorail.”

“Copy,” Max acknowledged. “Team, let’s break this down. Giles, do we have any known locations for these subjects?”

“Yes,” Batman replied at once. The team’s phones buzzed as the Dark Knight sent what information he had to them. “Divide and conquer?”

“More or less,” Lord agreed. “Fliers, take the farthest warehouses.” He smiled grimly at the immediate acknowledgements. “Roy, Giles,” he continued, “Take the farthest of the middle warehouses.”

“You got it,” Roy called.

Max traded looks with his two remaining subordinates. “Widow, Cap, and I will start with the warehouse closest to the bridge and work our way towards the monorail.”

* * * * *

The first warehouse the fliers descended on was empty, but they struck paydirt at the second warehouse, clearing out a nest of fear-crazed potion dealers and locating a water main with a large, gaping hole in the top. Mister Miracle ignored Stark’s colorful commentary as he inspected the traces that remained in a nearby metal barrel. “We’ve got something, Boss,” he reported.

“Talk to me,” came the immediate order.

“Looks like we found where they’ve been dumping this stuff into the water supply,” Ed replied grimly. He glanced back. “Spike, how many barrels?”

The genius sputtered a moment. Then he glanced around the warehouse, either thinking fast or letting JARVIS run a swift calculation. “Sarge, assuming they filled this place with barrels and dumped ‘em all in, the city’s entire water supply is laced with this stuff.”

“Why haven’t we felt the effects?” Wordy demanded.

Spike shook his head, but Lou cocked his own head to the side. “Giles?” he questioned slowly, thinking through his words. “How’d the Aurors get dosed?”

“They were gassed,” came the cool, straightforward response, with none of the Auror’s usual discomfort when he was forced to deal with the darker side of technology.

“Airborne,” Ed breathed. “As long as it’s just in the water, it’s harmless.”

“But vaporize the water…” Sam chipped in.

“And there’s nothing to stop Toronto from tearing itself apart through mass panic,” Batman growled. After another moment, the Dark Knight added, “This warehouse is empty; Atom and I are splitting up to check the next two.”

“Splitting up?” Sarge demanded.

“We can handle it,” came the irritated growl of reply.

“Fine,” was the equally annoyed counter from their boss.

Ed jerked just a bit and traded surprised looks with his teammates. That wasn’t like Sarge at all. A thread of worry touched the team leader…were Maxwell Lord’s memories affecting Greg again?

* * * * *

Atom, in retrospect, was grateful when Batman, as well as Lord, Cap, and Widow, crashed the party he’d stumbled into. Had he gone full out on the wizards, he would’ve won the fight without hardly _trying_, but somehow he had a feeling that killing their subjects/witnesses was a bit on the ‘not good’ side.

Between being forced to hold back and several spells that had caught him off guard, Atom had been well on his way to _losing_ the fight when his partner and his fellow superheroes stepped in. The silver hero rolled to his feet, panting for breath as his backup forced the wizards onto the defensive. Orange eyes narrowed at the sight of one subject trying to creep away unnoticed.

A swift burst of atomic power knocked the villain flat on his back as Atom surged forward, his face twisted in a furious scowl as he loomed over his target. “And where?” Roy taunted, summoning a ball of atomic power to dance on one fist, “Do you think _you’re_ going?”

The man on the ground looked up, a burlap bag over his face and his clothing designed to look like a scarecrow. The next thing Roy knew, a puff of smoke erupted in his face and he reeled, coughing and gasping. Fear surged – he’d just been dosed, he was about to start seeing things and baying at the moon and he _knew_ Parker should’ve just let them bring the kids along and… Captain Atom blinked, surprised that the only difference he could see was the way his brief panic attack had made the ball of yellow power on his fist double in size.

He glanced back in time to see Batman grab the scarecrow man and rip his mask off, twisting his wrist around as the man tried to dose him. “Taste of your own medicine, doctor?” Batman growled, forcing his captive to breathe in the fear toxin.

Roy swallowed hard. The man was a villain, no doubt about that. And by the end of the night, he was probably going to be on the hook for mass murder. But still… They were supposed to be _better_ than the criminals. They weren’t supposed to hurt the bad guys just because the bad guys hurt _them_ first. But as the detective shivered in reaction to the overwhelming terror he’d felt at the thought of going mad, he found he really couldn’t blame Giles one bit for his angry, overprotective reaction.

* * * * *

“Nothing,” Max reported grimly as he and Captain America finished checking the warehouse where they’d found one of their primary subjects.

“This must have been their meet up point,” Cap mused. “Close to the waterfront.”

“Easy access to marine transport,” Lord agreed. “Out of the city limits before sunrise.”

“Or maybe that’s just what they wanted us to think,” Widow proposed. “They’ve got the fear toxin recipe; they didn’t need Azrick anymore.”

Max turned that over in his mind. “A diversion? In a city they’re planning to destroy through mass panic?” he questioned. “As far as our subjects are concerned, there’s no cure for their poison.”

“Always have a backup plan, Sarge,” Cap disagreed. “Even with an airtight plan, you have contingencies ‘cause you never know what can go wrong.”

“No plan survives contact with the enemy,” Lou concurred over the comm.

The Black King suppressed a surge of annoyance at his subordinates’ insistence on speaking their minds and disagreeing with him. While he was pleased none of them had figured out he _wasn’t_ Parker, it still grated that he had to _pretend_ to be the practically pacifistic pathetic negotiator with no _guts_ for _real_ action. No courage, no will to _fight_ for those who couldn’t protect themselves. Frankly, the sooner he could make his move, the better.

But for now, he had to keep his act intact. How to do that, how to do that… A smug smirk curled his jaw. That would do _nicely_…

“Let’s see what Azrick has to say,” he decided firmly, heading back towards their primary subject. A little interrogation was _just_ the thing to vent his frustrations. And it could give him an opening to make his move.

_This might even be fun._


	4. Villainous Sergeant?

Batman frowned as Parker paced around their primary subject, his jaw set in fury and an odd glee in his eyes. Abruptly, the Sergeant halted, right behind the other man. “So,” he began, “What was the plan, Azrick? Dump your poison in the water mains and then hold Toronto to ransom? Maybe set off a few to get people’s attention?”

Azrick didn’t reply; his eyes stared off into the distance and Batman could hear him mutter, “Scarecrow…scarecrow…scarecrow…” over and over again. There was no sign he’d even heard, let alone comprehended his interrogator.

Parker moved, stepping forward and whirling, right in his target’s face. “Talk to me,” he urged, though there was a faint growl and even a smug presumption in his undertone. “The more you cooperate now, the better it will be for you in the long run.”

“Scarecrow…scarecrow…”

The Sergeant loomed over the other, his eyes hardening as arrogance coated his voice. “Unless,” he practically purred, “You _want_ to end up on the hook for mass murder…all by _yourself_. Hmmm?”

It wasn’t like Parker, to focus on the charges that would come _after_ innocents died rather than _saving_ those innocent lives. The ends didn’t justify the means…one of the things that _both_ Bruce Wayne and Giles Onasi appreciated about Team One. So why, Batman wondered, had Parker abruptly changed his focus and strategy? Was it just how he was reading their subject? Or something worse…more sinister?

He could see the concern on Miracle’s face, but he didn’t think the other man was seeing what _he_ was as Parker kept going, his attitude harsh and his words designed to tear and bite at his victim. Ed Lane was worried that Maxwell Lord’s memories were affecting his solid boss, but Batman was starting to suspect something far different. The way Parker stood, the arrogance the flowed from each word and line of his frame…Lord wasn’t affecting Parker. He didn’t _need_ to…not if Wayne’s suspicions were correct.

As the interrogation continued, Batman stalked away, heading towards the other wizards they’d cornered. Most of them wore robes that were more like rags, but one or two – the still sane ones – were dressed more finely. It was on _them_ that Batman focused his own interrogation; growling and snapping as he made it _clear_ to the thugs that he was _far_ more terrifying than their absent boss. The two knew precious little, but it turned out to be _just_ enough for the Dark Knight to put a few more pieces together.

Briskly, Giles worked his equipment, adding in the new information as well as a few suspicions of his. Normally, he didn’t like to work on assumptions, but nothing was normal tonight. They needed everything they could get, even assumptions. And as he surveyed three more possible addresses, the dark hero smiled grimly. “I have something,” he announced.

“Good,” Max remarked. “Our friend the Scarecrow is too far gone for anything useful.” There was a slight edge of accusation, accusation that Batman ignored. If he was right, then Lord had done much, much worse than _he_ had.

Batman rejoined his teammates, tapping his phone with cool efficiency as he brought up the addresses in question. “It’s thin,” he admitted openly, “But all three of these warehouses are close to the monorail.”

“We’ll need to split up again,” Cap mused.

“More than that,” Batman countered. “We need a group to head back to the bridge closest to the straightaway to the Bank Tower.”

“In case we can’t stop the train on this side,” Widow realized.

A sharp nod of confirmation. Turning, Batman held out his keys to Roy. “You’ve got the Batmobile, Atom. If you have to, you can bring that train down before it reaches Dominion Station.”

“Lou and I can reach the bridge fast and get it lowered for Roy,” Stark volunteered.

“Do it,” Max ordered. “The rest of us will split the three warehouses between us.”

Batman seized his chance and pointed to two of the warehouses. “Those are more likely; they’re just a bit closer to the monorail than the last warehouse is. Perhaps Coulson and myself can check that one?” When Cap hesitated, the Detective added smoothly, “We _are_ the least armed members of the team, Captain.”

He saw a dart of understanding cross Lord’s features, then surprisingly, the man backed him up. “Captain, we’ll be fine. Take those subjects down before they can load the train.”

“Copy that, Sarge.”

* * * * *

Max surveyed the warehouse with a skeptical eye; it looked like no one had been inside it in _years_. It was shabby, rundown, and dust _coated_ every visible surface in layers thick enough to run a trowel through. Still, every avenue had to be checked, particularly with an entire city’s fate riding on the outcome of tonight’s events. Frankly, though, the Black King suspected _this_ particular warehouse was more for Batman’s own personal interrogation rather than being a possible hideout for their suspects. Ah, well, he’d known _someone_ would figure it out, sooner or later.

So Max turned to look at Batman and cocked a sardonic brow. The Dark Knight read his expression perfectly and promptly went on the offensive with a low growl of, “What have you done to Parker?”

“Who says I’ve done anything?” Max jibed, crossing his arms.

Batman moved, looming over the slightly shorter man and poking his chest; indignation smoldered in the Bat’s eyes. “The _rest_ of us,” he snarled, “Are a mix of our _true_ selves and our superhero alter-egos. But _you_… You _are_ Maxwell Lord, with not even a _hint_ of Sergeant Gregory Parker, aren’t you?”

One shoulder hiked in a brief shrug. “So?” Max questioned, a hint of taunt in his tone.

“I’m going to ask again,” Batman snapped angrily. “What did you do to Parker?”

“Nothing,” Max bit back.

“Don’t lie to _me_, Lord,” the furious Auror spat.

“Spare me the sanctimony, Onasi,” Lord retorted. “We could’ve gotten what we needed from Azrick, but _you_ just _had_ to take revenge on him for trying to dose your partner. Don’t preach to me.”

“At least _I_ didn’t shunt a good man to the side so I could _betray_ his team,” Batman sneered.

“Haven’t turned on them yet, have I?” Lord questioned pointedly.

“Because it’s not worth your while,” was the immediate counter. “You will. I _know_ you, Lord.”

“You know me.” Mockery rang. “You know me so well that the two of us worked together for _years_ before you realized what I was. In fact, you know me so well that it took until after Kord’s death before you even went _looking_ for your precious little satellite.”

“I won’t deny I made mistakes,” the Dark Knight growled. “But _you_. We trusted you, _Ted_ trusted you. And you turned your back on everything you believed in. You used the very people you were claiming to protect for your OMAC army.”

For a split second, Max hesitated.

* * * * *

_ “How could he, Ed?”_

_“Wish I knew.”_

* * * * *

Deliberately, Lord hardened his gaze and took a step back, tilting his chin up and letting his natural arrogance flow. “And how many people have you and Joker gotten killed in your private war, eh? You and Scarecrow and all the rest of the lunatics you keep on sending to Arkham, only to have them break right back out again. How many more people have to die because you won’t do what’s _necessary_?” He smirked viciously. “You heroes. How many people die because _you_ don’t want to get your hands dirty? Ever think of that?”

Topaz spat sparks as the former businessman kept right on going. “Superman? Wonder Woman? Green Lantern? All of you…when you fight, people _suffer_ because you might as well be warring gods. And we mortals are caught _right in the middle_, with nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.”

“So that’s why you turned on us?” Batman spat. “Because _killing_ the people trying to _protect_ humanity would make things _better_?” The Dark Knight shook his head. “What about Ted? What about Booster? _They’re_ not ‘gods’; they’re just ordinary men who wanted to make a difference.”

“I gave Ted a chance,” Max countered sharply.

“To join you?” Now mockery rang in Batman’s voice. “Join or die? Not much of chance…or a choice, considering you’d already nearly killed his best friend.”

* * * * *

_ “No one escapes the Eye. It’s how we _zapped_ your PC and flash-fried that _bozo_ Booster.”_

_“Shut up.”_

* * * * *

“All I wanted to do was put Earth’s destiny back into _human_ hands,” Lord growled. “Not people _pretending_ to be human.”

“ ‘Pretending to be human’,” Batman echoed. “Tell me, Max. Does that apply to Parker’s kids?”

For a split second, the Black King blanched as the memory of two young teenagers giving him a confident, trusting look flew through his mind. He _knew_ the siblings were powerful, but the _thought_ of someone attacking or even killing them because of that power…

It took a moment to regain his poise, a moment the other man took _full_ advantage of. “How many died so you could get your ‘perfect’ world, Max? How many did you turn into OMACs? And who are _you_ to judge who lives or dies?” When Lord failed to respond, Batman shook his head. “Whatever you did to suppress Parker, you need to stop. Now.” The Knight’s voice had dropped to a dangerous, livid growl and his sentence held a tone of expectation.

Dismissively, Lord turned away from his accuser, his arrogance fully intact, then looked back, hazel eyes almost inhumanly calm. “Read my lips, _Wayne_. I did not shunt Parker to the side. It just happened.”

“It just happened.” Skepticism rang. “And I suppose you expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t _expect_ you to believe anything, Wayne,” Max bit back. “Doesn’t change the truth, does it?”

Batman drew breath, then snapped to the side; Lord went for his weapon – they _weren’t_ alone. But before either man could turn on their new threat, the spell impacted Batman, hurling him to the ground, unconscious and helpless. The lunge forward, putting himself between his fallen teammate and the threat, was automatic. Likewise, the way his sidearm leapt into his hand and immediately aimed at the newcomer, was equally automatic.

It was only when Max stopped moving that he realized; if he was _truly_ Maxwell Lord, he wouldn’t have done that. A chill ran up his spine. If he wasn’t _just_ Maxwell Lord, then who was he? And what was he supposed to do now?

* * * * *

The stocky man’s eyes narrowed as the lean wizard spread his hands, pointedly ignoring the semiautomatic in Lord’s hands. “Good evening, Mr. Lord.”

Max stiffened. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” he returned, forcing his poise and calm back in place, even with his sudden internal turmoil over his own identity.

The wizard inclined his head in what was almost a respectful bow. “I am Ra’s al Ghul, Mr. Lord. And I have followed _your_ career for some time with _great_ interest.”

The Black King considered that. Then he smiled, a cold, calculating smirk that transformed the usually kind and gentle Sergeant Parker…into his polar opposite.


	5. Not Who I Am Underneath

Though Maxwell Lord smiled, his stance was firm and his eyes challenging as he remained between his opponent and the fallen Batman behind him. Arrogance coated the Black King, an arrogance as natural to Max as breathing. Around the three men, the small, shabby warehouse loomed, almost menacing in its disrepair and the deep shadows that lurked.

“Tell me,” Max more demanded than requested, “What interests you about my career?”

The wizard smiled, a smile just as cold and cruel as Max’s own. “Why your talent for ruthlessness, of course. So _few_ understand that _saving_ the world requires such ruthlessness, requires sacrificing the few for the sake of the many, _requires_ enforcing _true_ justice, no matter how cold such justice may appear to lesser men.”

Lord considered, then inclined his head, though he forebode to respond.

“I offer to give you a place at my side,” Max’s opponent declaimed grandly, his gestures wide and inviting. “You understand what it is to sacrifice the few for the many.” A chiding look. “Though your focus was much too narrow.”

“Narrow,” came the flat, unimpressed echo.

“Yes, of course,” the other confirmed. “To _merely_ target supers…it will take far more than that to save the world.” A solemn head-shake. “No, Mr. Lord, to save the world requires sacrifices, some greater than others. That, too, you understand.”

A muscle twitched in Lord’s jaw. “Don’t,” he growled, a wealth of warning in his voice. As the other man paced back and forth, Lord shifted his position, ensuring that he was facing his opponent at all times. “You don’t know anything about me,” Checkmate’s leader snapped.

“Do I not?” A mocking lilt in those words. “I know you value humanity enough to sacrifice even those who once considered you friend.”

* * * * *

_“_Join_ me or _die_ time, is that it?”_

_Cool metal between his hands, aimed and ready. “That’s it _exactly_.”_

_“Rot in hell, Max.”_

_Without an ounce of hesitation, he fired._

* * * * *

“You don’t know what I went through,” Max snarled, forcing the images away. “You may know _what_ I did, but you have _no_ idea _why_ I did what I did.”

Truth was, he’d lied to Beetle that day. Sure, he’d been a selfish, amoral, greedy scut when he’d wormed his way into Justice League International, but he hadn’t been trying to control them. Hadn’t been manipulating them and using them to make himself look good, even as he stabbed them in the back. Well…maybe he’d been doing that in the _very_ beginning…when he was still taking orders from that stupid computer.

After the blasted computer had been taken out and the League had saved his life in _spite_ of his lies, he’d been well and truly one of them. It hadn’t been until much, much later that he’d changed, turned against the very people who trusted him enough to call him their friend and manager. But the lie had been so _ripe_, so perfect to rip Beetle’s self-confidence apart with, crush him even more than he’d already _been_ crushed. Besides, what did it matter if he lied to a dead man?

There was a humoring expression on al Ghul’s face, one that Max longed to wipe off. “You did what was necessary to advance your ultimate goal. To save the many, you sacrificed the few. Such sacrifices will one day be honored, rather than reviled.”

Another growl cut off the thin, sophisticated man as the stocky Lord’s fists balled. “I did what I did to _protect_ innocents from people like you!”

“Ah, of course.” The tone was placating, yet still mocking. “You murdered a man who trusted you in cold blood to protect the _innocent_.” Insinuation rang, loud in the warehouse’s eerie stillness; internally, Max flinched. “Or was it simply to ensure he could not interfere with your ultimate goal?” Ra’s finished, his voice haughty and superior.

Then he paused, as if inviting Max to speak, but he did not, though his fists balled even tighter. After another moment, Ra’s waved his hand in dismissal. “We do not target the innocent, Mr. Lord, merely the corrupt. Men who are too far gone to save must be removed if humanity is to survive. Your aid and experience would be…invaluable.”

Innocent. His gut curled in on itself as Beetle’s accusing, betrayed eyes bored into him. His own callous words after that deadly shot rang in his head, followed by Parker’s heartbroken question. _How could he, Ed?_ Heroes, friends, every random person he’d turned into an OMAC…he’d betrayed all of them. And for what? To _save_ humanity? To become like the sneering wizard facing him? Choosing who lived and who died…like a god… What had he become? It had all been so simple…

“And what about the collateral damage?” Max heard himself demand harshly, desperately trying to deny the truth. “Every time you _gods_ fight, we mere mortals are caught in the middle. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide; we’re left to _die_, playthings in wars we never started.” No, he wasn’t like this monster. He _wasn’t_.

“Tragic, yes,” Ra’s agreed gravely. “That is why the League of Shadows _exists_, Mr. Lord. We have been a check against corruption for thousands of years. _We_ sacked Rome, loaded trade ships with plague rats, burned London to the ground.” One eyebrow cocked as the wizard considered the cane in his hand. “Every time a civilization reaches the pinnacle of its decay, we return to restore the balance.”

“This city isn’t that bad. Not by a long shot,” Max countered instantly.

“You are defending a city so corrupt that we have infiltrated every level of its infrastructure? Effortlessly. A city where countless children are maligned _solely_ because of their heritage?” Ra’s shook his head in clear disappointment. “Open your eyes, Mr. Lord. Those of magic will not change. They are incapable of it.”

Lord bit back his first few responses and forced himself to consider the other man’s argument. Corruption…those in power corrupted _by_ that power and naturally misusing it. He hated it, despised the very thought. In the end, what had ultimately turned him against the people who’d trusted him was the realization that most of them held too _much_ power. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. How long would it be until all the strength the heroes had amassed was turned on those they fought to protect? He’d even seen a version of it play out, right at the tail end of Beetle’s coma after Doomsday’s attack on the League.

And yet…

* * * * *

_“Avada Kedava!”_

_A green curse, flying right at him. Nowhere to go, no way to save himself._

_He felt the impact, felt himself fly back into a wall. Even as the grief, shock, and horror slammed into his psyche, battering down what few barriers his mind still had left, a part of him wondered how he was still alive. His senses, on a painful level of overload, told him someone was near, holding out their hands. He reached, felt the emotional overload spike even higher…right before it got better as he was yanked up into a frantic hug._

_And when he could look…Brian’s still, silent form laid partially on top of him, a smile on his face. A _smile_. He’d known, better than the Sergeant, what would happen. But he’d still done it…_

* * * * *

_He hadn’t expected Simmons to come. This was, after all, a purely techie matter. A techie spree killer, using a weapon Simmons was painfully unfamiliar with. And Simmons would have to carry a gun, even if he wasn’t expected to _use_ it. An SIU investigation was inevitable at this point. Seven dead so far and more expected before the night’s end._

_And yet…the Auror had come. Had dropped everything just so he could help out his fellow Aurors. His fellow _cops_. The Sergeant couldn’t help but respect that. Simmons probably wouldn’t _ever_ like him or his team, but that clearly didn’t matter one whit when lives were on the line._

_So he returned the favor, warning the two Aurors of what was to come, treating Nathan like another member of his team, and ensuring that not a _hint_ of magic made it into the reports. And at the end of the night, when Simmons was finally free to go home, he took the time to pull the man aside and personally thank him for coming._

_Simmons regarded him in some surprise. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” At his uncomfortable, slightly chagrined expression, the other shook his head. “Parker, I’ve been an Auror most of my life. I’m not going to turn my back on people who need help. Magic or not.” The scowl was not as heavy as it would’ve been the day before. “Don’t think this means I like you.”_

_A slight smirk. “That, Nathan, is a given.”_

_With a swirl of his techie jacket, the Auror departed, only to pause at the door and look back. “If you ever need me again…”_

_“I know who to call.”_

_A sharp nod, then the other was gone._

* * * * *

_He shook his head in amazement as he watched the two new partners work together, the former loading the next magazine as the veteran Auror/rookie cop fired at a fresh target. Besides him, his team leader was nodding approval. “How’re they doing, Eddie?”_

_“Well, he’s still not up to SRU standards, but neither is Roy,” Ed Lane replied, crossing his arms. “I think I’m gonna make them switch to dry firing after this; Giles is picking up a flinch.”_

_“Train that right out of him?”_

_“Bingo.”_

_“Go easy, Eddie; he’s only had his gun two weeks.”_

_A solemn nod. “He’ll get there, Boss.”_

_He turned, giving his team leader a gimlet eye. “Make sure his aim with his wand isn’t suffering.”_

_Ed jerked back, then nodded agreement. “Dry-firing and a few rounds with his wand?”_

_“Sounds good.”_

_Before he left to go back to his everlasting paperwork, he looked back at the wizard determinedly trying to become a cop. A sad smile showed as his imagination overlaid another wizard over _this_ one…a wizard who might’ve become a good friend. And in the depths of his mind, the Sergeant offered up a silent, respectful salute to Brian Wilkins._

Rest in peace, my friend.

* * * * *

“Together we can save humanity from itself, Mr. Lord,” Ra’s al Ghul concluded, his expression earnest. A cunning gleam entered his eyes. “In fact, we can start with the man right behind you.”

Max smiled, a smile containing every ounce of Checkmate’s Black King. The King who’d turned on his fellow ‘royals’, executing them for their attempt on _his_ life. A villain to the core. One who held no regrets for those he’d betrayed or was about to betray. “Quite an impressive offer,” he observed. And yet, his gun never twitched towards the unconscious man behind him. “But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake here tonight.”

“And what mistake is that, Mr. Lord?” Ra’s inquired, an earnest query in his voice.

“My name.”

“Your name?”

Max nodded once. “My name is Coulson. _Agent_ Maxwell Coulson. And you’re under arrest.”

For a beat silence hung. Then Ra’s al Ghul shook his head regretfully. “So. You stand in the way of true justice.”

A fireball roared upwards, slamming into the dry as kindling rafters. Fire boomed, engulfing the warehouse’s roof in seconds. And a laughing maniac vanished into the flames, leaving the two Avenger Leaguers behind to burn.

_Huh…guess that makes me a hero now, doesn’t it? Who’da thunk?_


	6. What I Do That Defines Me

Fire roared, licking hungrily into the long decrepit, abandoned building. Bits of flaming material fell from the ceiling, along with charring rafters. Max ducked reflexively as he let his gun drop in favor of reaching his fallen teammate. There was no time to debate or reflect on his decision; the fire was already out of control and Max had _no_ intention of ending up burned to a crisp.

The stocky man grunted as he hefted Batman’s dead weight up on his shoulders. Something whispered, an instinct the Black King trusted even if he didn’t understand it, and he plunged in the same direction Ra’s al Ghul had gone. Around them, the smoke was already thickening, turning the warehouse into a pitch black death trap. Max forced himself to keep going, following the faintest trace of Parker’s wild instincts. Then his shoulder slammed against a wall. Several colorful words assaulted the smoke-filled space, then Max’s free hand found a gap. Coulson frowned, pushing experimentally at the gap. A sound brought his head around and he fruitlessly strained to see through the smoke. He heard himself cough and realized, _It’s now or never, Max._

Grimly, determinedly, Max threw himself towards the sound, his free hand stretched out to prevent any more collisions. He touched what felt like a doorway and warily ducked down, guessing as best he could at the door’s dimensions. Though Batman’s boots thudded against something, Max’s guess was accurate enough that neither man’s head impacted any unforgiving surfaces. Two steps in and the floor abruptly went out from under Max’s feet, sending the two falling through thin air.

Max choked back a panicked yelp as he and Batman tumbled into a dim tunnel that smelled of soot, smoke, and embers. Mentally, Coulson gave thanks for his teammate’s armor; it had probably just saved Wayne a broken rib or two from a stocky agent/manager/Sergeant landing on him. Naturally, the very same armor meant Max was now sporting bruises on his own chest and a nasty scrap on his chin, but the Black King consoled himself with the thought that it could’ve been a heck of a lot worse.

Groaning, Max pushed himself away from Batman, panting as he half rolled, half fell onto the tunnel’s dirt floor. One hand found his radio, still miraculously intact and operational after running into the heart of a fire with a man heavier and taller than he was on his back. He pressed the transmit button. “Anyone copy?”

Instantly, his comm was alive with several frantic, overlapping replies.

“Boss?”

“Sarge?”

“Coulson?”

“Max?”

Oh, the irony…of all of them, only _Roy_ was right. “We found our other primary subject,” Max reported grimly, coughing as the smoke in his lungs made itself known. “Batman’s down and al Ghul got away.”

“What happened?” Cap demanded sharply.

The villain-cum-hero coughed another batch of smoke out of his lungs. “He set the warehouse on fire. We’re in a tunnel below the warehouse right now.”

“Stay put, we’re coming to you,” Miracle announced.

For a instant, relief ran through Max – help was coming and he could let the _real_ heroes take over. Then he froze. Why set the warehouse on fire? Other than to make a rather dramatic statement. Answer: to distract the team of superheroes trying to stop you from poisoning every man, woman, and child in Toronto.

Even if Max ordered ‘his’ team to head right back to the monorail, they wouldn’t listen. They were all too stubborn for that. And explaining would waste precious time. With a mental groan and gripe, Max rolled onto his front, swiftly pulling his radio and phone free. He left both on Wayne – the better to mark the unconscious Batman’s position – and forced himself to his feet.

Then Checkmate’s Black King strode down the smokey tunnel, vanishing from view in moments. Behind him, Batman started coughing and rasping as he began to regain consciousness.

* * * * *

From the relative safety of the warehouse tunnel, Max watched as al Ghul’s minions loaded a massive, humming machine onto the monorail. Each worked with exquisite care and not a single one of them reached for their wands. The villain was sure they had them; the odds of there being another group of ‘Muggles’ cleared to know about magic was nil; but for some reason, they weren’t using their magic.

Max cocked his head to the side. A purely technological device? But it would have to be EMP-proof to survive in its magical environs. Plus, Max had never heard of anything able to vaporize water like this. Although he was certainly no expert, he _did_ know weapons – particularly weapons capable of affecting supers.

A few other ideas tumbled around his head, but in the end, it really didn’t matter _what_ the thing was or how it worked. What mattered was that it could hurt _his_ city. And he wasn’t going to let it. So, while al Ghul and the minions focused on their precious little machine, Max snuck aboard the monorail, secreting himself in a car far enough back that he could go completely undetected by his foes.

* * * * *

By the time Cap and Miracle reached Giles’ location, he was awake – and utterly infuriated as he stared down at Parker’s radio and phone. A variety of impressive adjectives were applied to the absent man as the team arrived, prompting a very arched, pointed brow from Ed Lane. “Where’s the Sarge?” the team leader growled, his Miracle persona receding in the face of his boss’s absence.

A bitter laugh was the only reply. “Gone.”

“Okay. Where?” Though the words themselves were calm and logical, Lane’s expression was anything but.

The Dark Knight shook his head, his voice regaining its usual deep rasp. “I don’t know, but we have a bigger problem.” Clenching his fists, Batman growled, “That’s not Parker.”

Wordy’s expression was skeptical. “Come on, Giles, Sarge’s been with us this whole time. No way we’re dealing with an OMAC scenario.”

The Auror shook his head grimly. “No, you don’t understand. We _haven’t_ been with Parker all evening, we’ve been with _Maxwell Lord_.”

“And how do you know that?” Ed barked, fear and anger mixing as he spoke.

“He admitted it,” Batman snarled. “I confronted him, told him to let Parker go, but then I heard something.”

“That’s the last thing you remember,” Cap mused, his calm forced and his eyes almost as wild as Ed’s.

It took a moment, but then Batman bowed his head in acknowledgement, frustration crystal clear.

“Where?”

The non sequitur drew twin puzzled looks, but Ed didn’t seem to notice; his expression had shifted from furious terror to grim calculation, though the Dark Knight had no idea _what_ had caused the sudden change. “Where were you knocked out?”

“The warehouse,” Batman replied at once, his tone making it clear that he thought the answer _should_ have been obvious.

“The warehouse,” Cap breathed, shock sending his eyes wide. “But why? If he’s _Lord_…”

“Then why’d he save Wayne here from the fire,” Ed finished. He reached down, his mind racing even as he keyed his comm. “Team One, Sarge is _not_ with Giles, repeat, the Boss is in the wind. Find him.”

“Ed, we can’t,” Sam protested at once. “If they’re loading the monorail right now…”

The team leader’s head dropped, his shoulders slumping in realization. “Copy that, Sam,” he acknowledged heavily, trading a despairing look with Wordy. “Priority is stopping that train. Spike, Lou, talk to me.”

* * * * *

Hovering above the monorail, Lou’s reply was blunt. “They’re almost done loading the device right now, Ed. I can try and stop ‘em, but Spike’s still getting that bridge down for Roy.”

Spike cut in before their one remaining leader could ask. “Somebody jammed the bridge controls,” he spat angrily. “JARVIS and I almost have them unjammed, but Lou’s on his own.”

“Copy,” Miracle replied, grim acceptance in his voice. “Thor, Widow?”

“Thor’s putting the fire out before it spreads,” Jules reported briskly. “I can head for the monorail myself,” she offered.

“They’ve just about got it on the train,” Lou countered. “Now or never, guys.”

“How many on the ground?” Cap broke in.

“Nine.”

Too many for even War Machine to handle on his own, unless he went lethal. And none of the team wanted to do that on a _normal_ day…to do that while their minds were mixed with their superhero alter-egos felt like opening a can of worms.

Except…once the train was loaded and moving, they wouldn’t have a choice. They’d _have_ to go lethal to save the city. And so, Ed Lane made the call. “Take ‘em down, Lou.”

“No.”

The team froze. “JARVIS?” Spike demanded.

“Use of any sort of explosive munitions near that device will cause it to detonate, sir,” the AI explained. “Likewise, using magic near the device will cause similar results.”

“It’s _that_ unstable?” Sam breathed in horror.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Odinson,” JARVIS confirmed. “Prolonged use of the device _will_ result in an explosion, an outcome I fear our foes are either unaware of or have not taken into consideration.”

“Will it explode before it reaches Dominion Station?” Batman questioned.

“Negative.”

“Lou, get down there and shut it down,” Ed barked. “Your armor should hold up long enough for you to do that.”

Lou swallowed hard. “It’s too late.” The hero brought both hands down, activating the repulsors as he leaned forward to follow the monorail as the train creaked into motion, gathering momentum as it went. “Train is moving.” The constable’s eyes narrowed. “I’m above it…Spike, is that bridge down yet?”

“Coming down,” Spike replied, tension in his voice. “Roy, get that tank thing moving!”

In the background of Roy’s transmission, the Batmobile’s engine roared. “Giles, where’s the boost thing?”

“No, don’t use that!” Batman blurted.

The entire team blanched at Roy’s startled yell.

* * * * *

Roy found the control for the rampless jump just as his partner ordered him to stop. Surprised, he pushed down – and the Batmobile roared as the thruster between the rear tires boomed to life. The Batmobile flew up the still lowering bridge half and launched itself into the air. The black armored vehicle soared forward, a flying brick hurled into empty space. The nose tilted down, then the Tumbler’s front tires found purchase on the other bridge half, jolting Captain Atom halfway out of his seat as the rear tires joined the front ones.

Fear faded into the background as the Tumbler’s GPS came to life. “At the next intersection, turn left,” a calm female voice instructed.

Roy grinned like a maniac and slammed the accelerator down as he skidded into the turn. “Next stop, Dominion Bank Tower,” he reported gleefully.


	7. I Don’t Have to Save You

The monorail rocked back and forth as it raced down the track, picking up speed with each passing moment. Normally, the train wasn’t allowed to move _nearly_ so fast, but Ra’s al Ghul hardly cared if he broke a few measly speeding laws in pursuit of his ultimate goal. He watched in satisfaction as the train rapidly left the Narrows behind, rocketing over the water and back to the mainland.

In the third car, Max made his move, quickly making his way forward towards the humming device, its master, and the monorail’s controls. One hand dropped down to his gun, only for the villain to flinch as he realized his gun was still in the burning warehouse. _Guess I’m doing this hand-to-hand,_ Coulson grumbled internally. Hazel narrowed as he reached the front two cars, then he leapt forward, one hand coming down on the device; he vaulted over the machine, smirking as al Ghul whirled, indignation clear on the wizard’s face.

“Surprise,” Max taunted.

“You _Muggles_ will never learn,” al Ghul spat.

“So much for saving the world,” Max quipped at once. “Looks like you’re just as much a tinpot dictator as every _other_ bad guy I’ve ever met.”

A sneer. “Does that include when you look in the mirror?”

Max smiled, a chilling smile chock full of the Black King’s inner rage and darkness. “I guess you’ll find out,” was the only reply as Lord’s right fist lashed out, connecting with al Ghul’s jaw.

The wizard crashed down, but rolled as Max pounced. His cane rapped Max’s left shoulder, drawing an involuntary cry as the cane connected with previously unknown injuries. Max stumbled, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as burns he hadn’t felt made themselves known. The villain ducked al Ghul’s swipe with that cane of his, returning the favor with a kick to the other man’s shin. He followed the kick up with another haymaker, leveling his foe out flat on the car’s floor.

Beneath the two men, the monorail flew, clicking and clacking as it raced towards Dominion Bank Tower. Max whirled from his defeated opponent and threw himself at the controls. If he could stop the train… Then al Ghul’s cane flew past him, the blade just barely missing the stocky man, and sank into the controls, destroying them beyond repair.

Max turned back, hazel darkening into topaz. He was going to die…and he was taking Ra’s al Ghul _with_ him. As he pounced, the monorail rounded a turn, water mains blowing all around its deadly path.

* * * * *

The craft that appeared above the monorail was shaped like a insect, but for all its apparent ridiculousness, it was both an efficient flying machine and a true example of its inventor’s creative genius. Said inventor was behind the controls, his expression grim as he lowered the Bug down towards the racing train. “Booster, what’s the plan?”

Booster’s expression was just as solemn as he regarded the Bug’s surveillance systems. “Subject’s knocked out the train controls,” he replied, “They’ll have to use the Batmobile to stop it now.”

Hawkeye stiffened. “But Uncle Greg’s on board,” she cried in dismay.

“I don’t think they know that, sis,” Lance murmured, almost to himself. “War Machine’s following, but he’s not making any moves.”

“Why?” Hawkeye questioned. “He could stop that thing easy.” She shivered at her own words.

Booster shook his head, just as bewildered at the adults’ strategy as the other two. Then sapphire narrowed behind the yellow goggles. “Beetle, take us in; get us as close to that train as you can.”

“Copy.”

* * * * *

Lou grimaced under his faceplate. “Ed, I take a shot at this thing and it could blow to kingdom come.”

“Copy,” Lane acknowledged. “Roy, where are you?”

“Five blocks from the Tower,” Atom reported briskly. “Take out the supports?”

Miracle looked back at Cap and Batman, trading nods with them. Then Ed replied, “Take that train down, Roy. I’ll take the heat for it.”

“You got it.”

* * * * *

Fists and feet flew, both men struggling to gain the upper hand as the train beneath them swayed with the force of its passage. Max twisted to the side, unleashing a blow from his left hand, grimacing as his left shoulder protested its ill usage, but otherwise ignored the pain. He could stop when he was dead.

Ra’s had lost his cane in sabotaging the controls, but that scarcely mattered when his own haymaker slammed into Lord’s chest, doubling him over for the follow up kick that sent the Black King tumbling to the ground.

Max snapped his foot out in a sharp kick, bringing his opponent down with him; the two surged up, locking together as the fight continued. Abruptly, Max found himself hurtling towards the monorail’s window, smashing into and through the glass before being yanked back and thrown downwards again.

* * * * *

The Batmobile slid to a halt only meters from the monorail tracks, visible only to Captain Atom. The few people out and about were rather amused by the black vehicle – clearly _someone_ was taking their Halloween festivities _far_ too seriously – but none of them realized what was happening.

Inside the Tumbler, Atom yelped in surprise as the seat moved sideways before pulling both him and the controls forward and down into the tank’s fire control area. Roy mentally gulped even as he aimed and pulled the trigger. Missiles flew, slamming into the monorail’s support column.

The monorail groaned, swaying to the side as its foundation was undermined, but didn’t fall. Not yet.

* * * * *

Max strained to break the grip Ra’s had on his throat as the wizard gloated over him. “Don’t be afraid,” he sneered, “You were just an ordinary man – a _Muggle_ – that’s why you couldn’t fight injustice and that’s why you can’t stop this train.”

In spite of his predicament, Max smiled. “Who said anything about stopping it?”

Ra’s’s head came up, staring at the cane blade buried in the controls…and the tracks beyond the windscreen.

* * * * *

The Bug’s underside opened, but Lance didn’t drop down. Instead, he shifted back. “ ‘Lanna, now!”

An arrow flew, slamming into the roof of the second car. Violet curled around the head and shaft, then spread over the metal. “Anti-Apparition Ward activated,” Hawkeye growled.

“Hold her steady, Beetle!”

With that, Booster grabbed onto the Bug’s extendable ladder and dropped down, triggering his force field as he fell.

* * * * *

Roy pulled the trigger again, unleashing another pair of missiles. The rock and stone, magically set to stand for a thousand years, vanished as the missiles obliterated it, destroying the key support for the monorail tracks.

The tracks splintered as they fell, becoming visible as the magic around them dissipated; the runes to keep them hidden tied to the now destroyed foundation. The support itself fell sideways, smashing into a nearby building; glass and metal rained down on the street as Roy’s “YES!” rang out over the comm.

* * * * *

Max surged up, slamming his opponent to the side and down as he rolled to be on top, pinning the wizard with a fierce expression of victory on his face. “You’ll never learn we _Muggles_ are just as good as you,” he taunted.

Ra’s laughed. “Say ‘good-bye’,” he mocked, right before his form shimmered. Then it snapped back into view. “No!” Ra’s gasped. “Who _dares?_”

Glass shattered as a golden figure flew through the window and into the doomed car.

* * * * *

Booster hurled the explosive in his hand at the back of the car; it detonated, forcing the trailing monorail cars away from the lead pair. Without pausing, he darted forward, snatching his uncle up and levering them both back.

“No!” the subject cried. “Don’t leave me!”

The golden hero looked the wizard in the eye, letting his rage shine bright. “I won’t kill you,” he growled. “But I don’t have to save you.” Then he pushed off, flying backwards out of the monorail with Coulson firmly in his grasp.

Ra’s whirled to look forward, closing his eyes as he struggled to Apparate away.

* * * * *

Max bit back a scream of terror as he was hauled aloft. From his position, he saw as the two lead cars soared off their tracks, the first car somehow arching back as it fell, forming a brief V-shape with its follower before they crashed through a wooden structure and into the Dominion Tower Bank’s parking garage.

He heard them slide, taking out cars and concrete pillars alike before they finally came to a halt. A high pitched whine assaulted his hearing, right before fire boomed outwards, incinerating much of what had survived the initial crash. And just beyond the tangled heap of metal that had once been one of the monorail’s supports, he saw the Batmobile’s roof retract.

The next thing he knew, he was being hauled upwards through the Bug’s lower door and deposited on the flying machine’s smooth floor. He stayed where he was, panting for breath as the Bug’s lower door cycled shut and three teenagers encircled him.

As soon as he looked up, Booster knew.

* * * * *

“What did you do?” Lance hissed, letting his Animagus form shimmer in the depths of his eyes. He would have his uncle back, he _would_.

Lord’s eyes slid closed. “Nothing,” he rasped. “It just happened.”

Hawkeye opened her mouth to snap, only to pause at her brother’s upraised hand. Lance knelt down, fixing the other with a stern look. “Look at me.”

Confused, the older man obeyed.

“Lion’s Mane,” Booster whispered, his face paling; to the side, Alanna gasped.

“What?” Max questioned, confused. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

Hawkeye mutely offered him a mirror and he looked down into it, freezing at the way his eyes were openly shifting from normal human eyes to slitted like a cat’s, then on to a round pupil that wasn’t human. A bird’s? And then, _then_, he understood. Understood, all too well, what had happened, why his mind had completely supplanted Parker’s. Even how he’d been able to remember things only _Parker_ should’ve been able to remember.

“The magic,” he breathed, looking up again. “Parker’s magic – what’s happened to it?”

“Lance, is that what I think it is?” Hawkeye asked.

A somber nod, then Booster explained, to both Max and Beetle, “You were able to take over because my uncle’s magic isn’t _his_ anymore – not like it should be. Somehow, when he got it back, it didn’t merge with his core right. As long as it’s not merged with his core, he can’t control it.”

Max swallowed. “So when he put the costume on…”

“You took control,” Booster finished with a nod. “When he wakes up, he might not even remember anything you did; for _him_, it’ll be as if he put on the costume, only to find himself taking it off again, a lot dirtier and dustier than he remembers.”

The villain-cum-hero looked down, unable to hold Booster’s gaze any more. “Can we fix it?” he questioned, his tone almost plaintive.

“If you don’t fight me, we can,” Booster asserted.

Surprised, Max looked up again. But just as he was gathering his will to say, “Do it,” a black fog materialized in the Bug. Instinctively, Max sucked in a breath and forced his thoughts and memories down in Parker’s mind, fleeing the fog wrapping itself around the teens and the rest of his team. Sergeant Parker blinked, confused by his surroundings, then the fog swarmed over him and memory _twisted_.


	8. Rebuild It, Brick for Brick

“Who was it, Skeets?” an angry Maxwell Lord demanded. “Who took their memories from them?”

“Results are inconclusive, sir,” the security ‘bot replied sorrowfully. “There is no direct evidence of who the offending party might be, only my conjecture.”

“Tell me anyway,” Max ordered. “Your guesses tend to be right on the money, Skeets.”

A surprised bob as the little robot took in the unexpected compliment. “I believe it was Tash, sir,” Skeets announced, flying up to ‘look’ Max in the eye, human eyes to robot visor. “As I’m sure you already know, sir, the Halloween costumes only permit _our_ existence because they were subjected to a magical rite.”

“The rite itself didn’t last after Team One took it out,” Max countered.

“As you say,” Skeets agreed. “However, by the time the rite was halted, the children’s Wild Magic had already identified certain _advantages_ to the Halloween spell…and so cemented those advantages in the costumes.”

“But the rite was to Janus,” Lord mused thoughtfully, “Not Tash. How does Tash come into play, Skeets?”

“I’m afraid that is simplicity itself, sir.” Skeets’ voice was almost apologetic. “Janus and Tash are two names for the same entity.”

Lord’s gaze snapped to the small, hovering ‘bot. “So Tash has had an ‘in’ from the very beginning?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” Skeets confirmed mournfully. “And the longer the costumes were worn, the greater his influence became…until he could alter and warp their memories at will.”

A chill ran down Lord’s back. “Can he do it to them out of costume?”

Skeets ‘shook’ his nose in a negatory fashion.

“Good,” Max murmured, before stiffening again. “Can he do it to _us_?”

“Unknown,” Skeets reported, “I estimate the probability of such at 73.57 percent. Possibly ameliorated by the Wild Magic that powers the costumes.”

“Wild Magic that wasn’t enough to protect _them_,” the Black King jabbed.

“Tash may have altered their memories, sir, but I believe the original memories are still present, if buried,” Skeets elaborated. “_Without_ the Wild Magic, their original memories _would_ have been wiped out entirely.”

Max paced back and forth, thinking hard. Skeets bobbed before him, patient as only a robot could be. Abruptly, Lord’s steps slowed as a new thought occurred; Checkmate’s leader finally came to a halt as he mentally sorted through the steps of his fledgling plan. “Skeets?”

“Sir?”

“Is there any way _we_ could alert them to Parker’s status?”

“His status as pertains to his magic, Mr. Lord?”

“Precisely.”

Skeets dipped down, considering the options himself. At last and with great reluctance, the robot ‘shook’ his nose. “No, sir; we still do not have enough magic for direct interaction outside of Halloween. Not even I possess sufficient reserves for such a maneuver.” The robot floated back up. “Perhaps another angle, Mr. Lord? Could _we_ fix the issue ourselves?”

Max reared back on his heels in surprise at the security ‘bot’s proposal. Part of him rebelled at the thought; they would sacrifice most, if not all, of their gleaned magic in such a scheme. And yet… Lord closed his eyes, remembering how it had felt to do the _right_ thing, to be the hero and not the villain. The surge of guilt and regret when he’d looked up at Clark Lane and seen Ted Kord glaring accusingly back at him. For _Parker’s_ sake, Booster had saved his life; ironically, _also_ for Parker’s sake, Lord had saved Batman and left him alive, if unconscious, in that smokey tunnel.

Power corrupted and absolute power corrupted absolutely. He believed that; with every fiber of his being he believed it. But he’d always unconsciously added in a silent, _but _I’m_ incorruptible. _I_ can be trusted._ He’d been a fool – an arrogant, proud, stiff-necked fool. Because if it was true that absolute power corrupts absolutely, then he’d been so corrupt that it was a wonder mirrors didn’t crack when he walked by, recoiling from his darkness and rage.

The Black King shivered. _What am I? No better than al Ghul, determined to reshape the world in my own image and never mind who gets hurt along the way._ But what had changed? Why was he aware of his own faults when before he’d _reveled_ in his attacks on the heroes, _thrilled_ in his ability to control Superman, forcing him to live his deepest nightmares over and over again, lashing out at his own friends, unable to tell friend from foe? Thrilled, too, in forcing Wonder Woman to choose between keeping her hands lily-white and saving her friend from his grasp.

* * * * *

_“You lack conviction.”_

* * * * *

Lord’s head snapped around, fruitlessly searching for the speaker, before he realized no one had spoken. Only his memories…no, not _his_ memories. Coulson’s. It struck him then, like a punch from the Man of Steel himself: Coulson. Coulson was the difference. He truly _was_ a mix of Maxwell Lord and Phil Coulson.

But why? Why had he been more Maxwell Lord than Phil Coulson? Had that been Tash, seeking to force Parker into betraying his team’s faith and trust, right when all of them were the most vulnerable to the Father of Lies? Somehow, Max knew that was _exactly_ what had happened. Tash had been manipulating the events of Halloween from the start, gleefully anticipating the fallout from Parker’s involuntary betrayal. A smirk pulled at Max’s jaw. Except he _hadn’t_ turned on Parker’s team; instead, he’d chosen to _join_ them, putting himself right back where he belonged: a member of Justice League International once more.

A gleam of challenge lit Coulson’s eyes as he looked over at Skeets. “We’re going to need a focus,” he declared. “Something that belongs to Parker, something we can get to him at a critical juncture, something he won’t hesitate to grasp when the time’s right.”

Skeets’ visor lit with an equal gleam. “I know just the thing, sir.”

* * * * *

The fire had burned itself out by the time the two arrived. Maxwell Coulson knelt, his gaze locked on the weapon buried underneath the charred supports and seared roof tiles. Skeets drifted downwards, deploying a claw that reached under the warehouse’s remains to grasp the fallen sidearm’s grip. Gently, but firmly, Skeets pulled the abandoned Glock 17 from its resting place.

“That?” Max questioned skeptically. “By now, Parker’s been issued a new one.”

“True,” Skeets conceded. “However, this weapon has been Parker’s since the day he joined the Strategic Response Unit. It has been through everything _he_ has, even his many encounters with the magical world.”

“It’s even been modified,” Max mused, warming to Skeets’ choice of focus. “Modified to work with magic.”

“More than that, sir,” Skeets replied. “Parker’s magical ability is negligible, but his weapon has been present during nearly every major instance of his magic manifesting itself. The metal would reject any attempt by the magic to anchor itself, but the polymer is far more…malleable.”

Max froze mid-reach. “It has _magic_ embedded in it already?”

“A minimal amount, Mr. Lord, but perhaps significant. If you wish to ensure that Parker will _not_ hesitate to take his weapon up again when the time is right, there can be no better lure than his _own_ magic.”

After a few moments, Max grasped the pistol and pushed himself to his feet. “A bit of cheese to draw him in, eh, Skeets?”

“An apt analogy, sir.” The robot hovered upwards until he was peering down at the weapon over Lord/Coulson’s shoulder. “What do you intend to do with it?”

Idly, the Black King ejected the magazine, catching it in his other hand, then he slipped it in his pocket before he racked the slide and tilted the gun sideways to let the chambered round fall free. He holstered the empty gun long enough to remove all the bullets from the magazine, then drew the Glock and slapped the magazine back into place. Done, he slid the gun back in his own holster and turned to leave.

“We’re going to rebuild Parker’s connection to his own magic, Skeets,” he told the security ‘bot flying at his side. “Every scrap, every flaw; we need to make the connection _exactly_ as it was on the day it fractured.” One hand came up and Max rubbed his chin in thought. “If we can, we need to figure out why the connection didn’t reform properly. Powerful Tash might be, but Wild Magic has its own power – how’d Tash manage to corrupt the merge?”

“Shall I investigate that, sir?”

A sidelong look, then an approving nod. “One more thing, Skeets.”

“Sir?”

Coulson halted, turning to face the ‘bot head on. “To fix the connection, we’ll have to break it again.”

Skeets recoiled in instinctive horror. “Sir!” he protested.

Max was unmoved. “Skeets, we’re essentially dealing with the magical version of a broken bone that’s healed wrong. How do you fix _that_?”

The robot dipped down in dismayed understanding. “You break the bone and reset it.” The visor rose to meet the other’s eyes. “But how do you intend for our focus to do that?”

“I don’t know if we _can_ do that, Skeets,” Coulson confessed. “And if that’s the case, then something _else_ will have to break the connection before we can help.”

“What?”

The villainous hero shook his head. “Wish I knew,” was the wry response. His eyes fell to the soot-stained pistol grip. “But when it does, we can make our move. Get this back to him, get him to pick it up.”

“And then?”

“Pray that we’ve done it right.” Behind the two solitary figures, the sun began to rise, but unlike the year before, Max’s form didn’t shred as he turned to watch the sunrise.

“And what will happen if we’ve done it right?” Skeets inquired curiously.

A smile, both dark and hopeful all at the same time. “Parker’s connection to his magic will be rebuilt. Brick for brick, just like it was.”

“Perhaps, sir, not _quite_ the way it was,” Skeets proposed.

One brow arched inquiringly as Max cast a sidelong look at the football shaped ‘bot.

“This may be our opportunity for some improvements to the foundation.”

Agent Coulson considered that, rubbing one thumb over the pistol grip as he thought. Then he nodded approval. “See what you can do,” he ordered. Before Skeets could flutter away, Max lifted his free hand. “And talk to Booster,” he added, “See if he or Hawkeye have any ideas of their own.”

“Certainly, sir,” Skeets acknowledged. “Anything else, Mr. Lord?”

Checkmate’s Black King looked back at the rising sun. For a moment, regret, shame, and guilt pressed in on him, screaming that he was irredeemable, doomed to darkness, and how could he think that he could _ever_ make a difference?

“This is probably going to be the end of us,” he observed.

“It is, sir.”

Calm and matter of fact. Just like a robot. Max’s smile turned sad and wistful. Would that _he_ could face his end with as much dignity. “But then,” he remarked, “We never existed in the first place anyway.”

“Very true, Mr. Lord.”

Who was he? Hero? Villain? Somewhere in the middle? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to die. Or would he just fade out of existence, like the nothingness he truly was? “Will they even know about us, Skeets?”

“I do not know, sir,” Skeets replied. “While I suspect they will not, no one can ever tell what Wild Magic will do.”

Resolve firmed, joined by a newfound realization. “My plan was never going to work, was it?”

“No, sir,” Skeets confirmed.

“Well, then,” Maxwell Coulson decided, “Let’s make our swan song a good one, Skeets.”

A bob of agreement, then the small security ‘bot was gone.

Max looked back at the rising sun, his smile going dark, right along with his eyes. “You might have created us, Tash,” he hissed under his breath, “But I swear you’ll regret it. You’ll regret every last _second_ of our existence when we’re done.”

The Shade walked away from the warehouse, smirking at the outraged howl only he could hear. Maybe his defiance would come to nothing, maybe Tash could destroy them before they even had a chance to help Parker. But he refused to be what he had been. Refused to be a slave to the past Tash had fashioned for him, the past he’d been shackled to when he’d gotten memories from his post JLI years.

Maybe he could never make up for his past, what he’d done to those who trusted him and those who’d never known him in the first place. But here, in _this_ place, he could make something good and bright, something that would outlast his shadowy twilit existence.

“The King is dead, long live the King,” Max murmured to himself, slipping his hands in his pockets as he walked, smiling a genuine smile at long last.

_~Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween from 2019, ya'll! Now, while there are clearly some loose ends, unlike last year, you won't have to wait another year for the answers. I won't tell you how long you _will_ have to wait, but it won't be another 'Please wait for the resolution next Halloween'.
> 
> As always, I cherish comments and would love to hear from you.
> 
> Regardless, enjoy your Halloween and try not to gorge on candy! ; )


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